


To Sleep

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Anorexia, Bulimia, Depression, Eating Disorders, Fights, M/M, Modern Era, One Shot, Overdosing, Pain, Painkillers, Sad, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sorry guys, Suicide Attempt, disgusting, really this is extremely triggering, small story, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:03:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6588694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin only wanted to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Er. Really read the warnings. Yeah, this fic is pretty much based on something that I did a while ago. I don't know, I was having a tough night and figured I would deal with my past by writing it out.

There was something about self destruction. It always followed Merlin around, tugging at the edges of his mind, blurring into his vision and words. Maybe that was why he stayed with Valiant, maybe that was why he stopped eating, started purging.

Whatever it was, that self hate would follow Merlin for years to come. And god, it’s a wonder that he’s alive today.

\---

Merlin sobbed, feeling the hate, so raw and digging and painful and present, running into the bathroom and slamming the door shut. Locking it. Sliding down the back until his bottom met the ground. From there he just curled up, in on himself, ignoring the automatic bile pushing at the back of his throat, the hatred making his stomach churn and jerk.

The pain… it was indescribable. It ran through him, that self hatred, that bottled rage and sadness and confusion and fear. It made his nerve endings burn and his chest constrict to the point that he was left a gasping mess on the ground, curled in on himself, unable to move, unable to think about anything else save for his misery.

He would never be good enough.

He would never be worth shit.

He would never be pretty or wanted or needed or understood or worthy. He would just live the rest of his life like this, miserable and hated and disgusting. And god, wasn’t that a thought? He couldn't see himself past the age of twenty, couldn't see a future – not for him, at least.

Merlin sobbed, the snot and tears and disgusting spit all mingling on his face. Blowing his nose would do little now, it was all so built up.

He rubbed a hand across his face, sniffling through the tears.

Merlin wanted to sleep. That was all he wanted right now, was to be calm enough to sleep. To leave this world for a while, to be able to give it all a rest.

He was too emotional though, unable to think, let alone calm down.

Slowly sitting up, Merlin gasped for breath a bit longer, trying to make the tingling going through his face from the hyperventilation stop. It scared him, making him unable to move –

He was stuck on the ground. Stuck there, stuck here, stuck now, stuck, stuck, stuck…

A minute, or maybe an hour, passes. Merlin finally calms enough to rub once again at his disgusting, swelled eyelids.

Then a thought comes to him, making Merlin go stock still on the ground.

One time, when he was younger and foolish, Merlin had taken too many painkillers. They were over the counter, nothing that would be so kind as to get someone high, or kill them. But a handful had been enough to make him drowsy. Sleepy.

…Sleepy.

Fumbling to get up, suddenly frantic for the release of sleep (never mind it’s midday), Merlin throws himself at the pill cabinet, throwing the mirror back to reveal various bottles and containers and half used tubes of toothpaste. Digging, he finds a bottle of painkillers.

Merlin hesitates for a moment, biting at the inside of his mouth, absentmindedly finding comfort in making it bleed. (A habit that went as far back as he could remember.)

The hesitation only lasts a second, though. Merlin is tired, emotionally drained, his body is in pain from his hatred and sadness.

He needs the release. Needs the pain to stop, at least temporarily.

Merlin rips the cap off, downing the first few without water. It hurts a bit, a pill getting stuck sideways, making him bend over the sink and cup his palms, sucking the water in. He holds a mouthful there, adding more pills, making a face of disgust as the outer layer dissolves on his tongue.

And then suddenly Merlin is looking at an empty bottle.

Relief, of all things, floods through him.

Peeking a head out, Merlin makes a dash for his bedroom. He locks the door quickly, breathing a sigh of relief as he peels off sweater and pants, going to lay down on the bed.

Moments later, and his mind is foggy. A minute more, and sleep finally, finally takes him.

___

Merlin woke up late in the evening. He goes downstairs, grabbing a bowl of grapes and running back to hide in his room. Valiant is not in the house now, having gone out for one reason or another. Probably to a bar, probably to go drink away their fight.

Merlin swallows, feeling hot. Really hot.

He is hungry, though, starving. Merlin hasn’t eaten in days, and the pile of grapes in front of him are a feast to be had. His brain is fuzzy and his tongue is heavy but Merlin ignores it, figuring the growing headache is from his crying, that the fog around him is from sleep.

The hotness is still there, turning his cheeks red, making the grapes – cold, beautiful grapes – that much better on his tongue. He’s thirsty, didn’t realize he was, not until he’s eating those grapes. They’re so fucking good.

Merlin finishes the bowl in twenty minutes, and can’t even be arsed to feel guilty about it.

 

Twenty minutes after that, and Merlin’s head is buried in the toilet, the taste of bile and grapes – fucking grapes – and pills in his mouth, in his nose, in his fuzzy brain.

No one is home to hear him vomiting. No one is there when he stumbles, numb hands turning the faucet and water spilling down his shirt and he tries to get rid of the taste.

Not five minutes later, and Merlin is going back to sleep once more.

Sleep, sleep, sleep.

It was all he wanted.

\---

Three days.

Three days Merlin paid for trying to find something as simple as sleep.

Three days Merlin was laying on the floor of the bathroom, the smell of bile and grapes and – at one point, because Valiant was too scared to stay mad and had gone out and gotten Merlin takeout – fries permeating everything. His world shrank down to a whole new level of hell. To dozing and nausea and a churning stomach and pain, pain, pain.

Merlin was fine when he shoved fingers down his throat. He enjoyed it, even. The relief that came after vomiting up a big meal, at the feeling of an empty stomach, was agreeable. It was pleasant. It was physical, the release.

But now, now vomiting was hell. Merlin hated it, hated the feeling of his body protesting against him instead of him protesting his body.

He hated the lack of control. Because everything, everything was already out of control – his life, his family, his relationship, his happiness and his education. But Merlin had always had this, had had the control over himself, the ability to hurt himself and know it was something he had chosen to do, knew he deserved –

And now even that was out of control.

\---

Merlin was in and out of consciousness. The third day, Valiant pleas with him to go to a hospital. But the mere mention of someone finding out – realizing Merlin had been so stupid as overdose on pills that wouldn’t even kill him…

Merlin sobs, letting the tears out, and Valiant finally concedes, giving him one more day before he calls an ambulance.

Thankfully, a fucking miracle, really, the fourth day brings food and water staying down. His stomach still churns, and Merlin still sleeps – incredibly tired.

But he got better.

\---

At the end of it all, Merlin loses five pounds.

\---


End file.
